John Watson The Rent Boy
by Redderhead
Summary: John becomes Sherlock's Shadow. Rather a strange adventure ensues! Rated M for Adult Themes. Johnlock fantasy - Please, if that isn't your thing leave this WELL alone!
1. Chapter 1

John Watson the Rent Boy

Chapter 1

Sherlock sat still as stone in his usual leather armchair beside the fire.

He had been there for some time, now. John had noted it as his longest time yet; 48 hours. The Doctor got worried after the third day he had come home from the surgery to find Sherlock unmoved still.

"Sherlock, you have to move, how have you not been to the bathroom?" John said incredulously as he squatted down before the man made of marble.

"Don't be ridiculous, John, I have only been here a few hours" Sherlock spoke. His voice was raspy and unused as his red eyes refocused on the Doctor's facial features.

"No, you have not. It has now been three days" John said firmly as he raised a hand to Sherlock's face, moving a greasy fringe in order to feel the man's temperature. Moving his hands he stood slightly to lean over the man and lift his eyelids. Seeing nothing compromising the Consulting Detective's health, John returned to his squatted position.

"Sherlock, there have been no cases. What are you thinking about?" John asked gently, laying a comforting hand on top of the younger mans.

Sherlock instantly looked down at their hands before he made a move to stand, ripping his hand away. John leapt out of the way as Sherlock all but jumped over his flatmate to get to the bathroom.

John couldn't help but be a bit dejected at his resident Sociopath's odd behaviour and secretly wondered if he disgusted the Detective with physical contact.

Some time later as the sun dropped from the sky, John turned in his armchair as the living room door opened.

"I'm going out" Sherlock stated through the crack in the door.

"A case?" John asked tentatively.

Sherlock did not answer as he slowly ebbed away from the door and trotted down the stairs.

John sat for approximately a minute before leaping up and grabbing his jacket with the intention of following the detective.

John tried his hardest to keep to the shadows, using all of the skills Sherlock had taught him to use when following a suspect. Sherlock was walking against the cold night's wind, his coat and scarf pulled efficiently up to his chin. John had deduced by the aroma in the hallway before he left; that Sherlock had showered using his own mint shower gel and had used the nicest aftershave he had. Therefore, Sherlock must be meeting someone, John surmised.

The streets gradually got busier as the Consulting Detective weaved in and out of streets and alleyways. Eventually, John noticed his surroundings with a sickening jolt. He had only been in this part of town once, and it was not a desirable place to be.

Rounding the last corner, John hovered in the alley behind a large waste bin watching as Sherlock approached the notorious night club across the street.

After an hour of hiding in the filthy alley, John spied Sherlock walking out of the club and hailing a taxi. John watched the taxi disappear from view as he curiously crossed the road into the night club.

The place was a hell-hole. As well as being a notorious gay bar, it was the number one crime location in London. John spied the barman and aimed for the stool that stood alone at the bar. Sitting down he ordered a pint, despite the location he needed the drink.

"Hello, what's your name then?" A man asked in a rather camp voice. John looked up to see that this man was the same height and build as himself. His blonde hair was closely cropped and his eyes were a light blue.

"Hi, I'm….Martin" John responded, lifting a hand in order to shake the stranger's.

"Well, _hello_ Martin" he said with a seductive smile; "I'm John" he replied, taking 'Martin's' offered hand.

'Martin's' smile slipped ever so slightly as he gawped a little at this stranger. "I see, and what's your second name?" Martin asked lightly.

"Keen are we?" John asked with a smile. "Watson, John Watson" the stranger replied.

Martin's jaw hung a little loosely as he eyed this man suspiciously; he now noticed that the coat he wore was not dissimilar to his own, and his jeans and shoes were almost a dead match.

"So, John" Martin started "I take it you work here?" he asked casually.

"Yes and no" John replied. "I work here when I don't like what I see" he hinted with a smirk.

"And is John Watson your real name?" Martin asked curiously.

"No" John laughed. "A man I met here says I suit the name." he explained as he leaned against the bar.

"Oh really?" Martin asked, trying to sound causal. "Sounds like a regular".

"Oh, he is. Wonderful man, if I could get him to settle down, I'd be a happy housewife" The man giggled.

Martin smiled slightly in thought before he straightened his coat. "Well, it was lovely to meet you, John. But I'd best be off now. Will you be in tomorrow?" thinking he might as well do his act properly, Martin winked suggestively.

"You betcha soldier boy" John said with a lean towards Martin. "Always wondered what it would be like to do the naughty with a body double" he said with a smile.

Martin's eyes widened slightly but he recovered quickly, firing back; "As long as I don't have to share you with your…._regular customer._"

"Oh, I'm afraid he doesn't share does cheekbones. He just likes the one on one, if you catch my drift." John and Martin smiled to one another before Martin exited the building as slowly as he could manage.

The walk back to Baker Street felt unreal. John tried to piece together the information he had gained. Sherlock had spent an exceedingly long time thinking, with no case or apparent conundrums. He was a regular at the Hose Pipe gay club; he had named a prostitute after _him_. Sherlock obviously had 'experienced' this man as he suggested they had done 'one on one'. Sherlock was gay; John knew this from their first dinner together….

Sherlock wanted John.

John's immediate reaction was to be hurt. Why hadn't his colleague, his friend, his flatmate, his hero, his Sociopathic madman asked him first?

It was now that John stopped still in the street.

What would have been his answer if Sherlock _had_ asked?

John admired Sherlock. He would do anything for that curly haired and high cheekbone-d genius, but would he kiss him? Would he hold him? Would he dare venture further?

A taxi beeped its horn angrily as it approached John at speed. John's reverie, however, wasn't broken by the noise of screeching tyres, nor the car horn, nor the bright headlights, nor the drunks laughing in the alley, but instead by a large figure pushing him violently onto the pavement and consequently into the brick building close by.

John breathed heavily as the air blasted free from his lungs and his gaze was met with ice blue eyes staring down at him.

Sherlock's breathing was heavy from his obvious running. He had John's back pushed up against the building in question and his body was flush with the Doctor's, pinning him in place.

This position was held a little longer than was usual as both men stared at each other, breathing heavily and appearing to be lost for words.

"Sher-Sherlock" John muttered as he recovered from being winded.

"You shouldn't have followed me, John" Sherlock growled, still holding the Doctor firmly in place.

"I'm – I'm sorry." John said, still a little shaken.

"Can you walk?" Sherlock asked, his threatening demeanour changing in an instant to concern.

"Yea, yea, I can walk" John said hurriedly.

Sherlock sideways stared at John as though examining him before he let him down gently to hold himself up right.

John leaned back against the wall with a heavy sigh as Sherlock stood back from him, now avoiding his gaze.

"Do not go back there; I am in the middle of a case. You could compromise it." Sherlock warned, looking to a taxi as it whirled past them.

John looked to the floor sadly. He could possibly be wrong in his assumptions after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"John, stop staring at me, it is not helping me think" Sherlock said in his low baritone voice. John's knees felt suddenly weak and he looked away, sitting down in his own armchair.

"I thought you didn't have any cases" John murmured, grasping his laptop from the coffee table.

"I have two. Both Scotland Yard. You were _working_ when Lestrade called me." Sherlock said dully from his position on the black armchair.

"Why is there a man named John Watson working in that night club? And why did you name him that?" John blurted before he could think.

Sherlock's head snapped up in John's direction and for a split second John had thought he saw a flicker of panic in those marvellous eyes.

Sherlock rose to his feet and headed wordlessly for his own bedroom. John let his head bow as his right arm came up to meet it. He had possibly just jeopardised their friendship.

The following day, Sherlock had vacated the flat from an early hour. John, thinking nothing of it, went to the surgery.

After 8 hours of mundane cases of winter sniffles and flu, he stopped by the flat to retrieve his revolver and headed to the Hose Pipe.

Walking in the door, he didn't see 'John' at all. Resting against the bar he scanned the minimal crowd with ease, confirming that the man in question was simply not there.

"Excuse me; I don't suppose you know where John Watson is tonight?" John asked across the bar. The bar maid smiled warmly;

"Oh, I'm sorry love, he's off sick tonight. Terrible sick with this flu that's goin round, feel free to fill in for him" she said with an up-and-down look at John "You're the double of him" she said with a cackle as she dropped off a drink in front of him. "Here, on the house" she said.

John sat for a while longer, wondering just what the case was that brought his flatmate to this 'nice' part of town. At half past eleven, the man in question entered the bar. John was not looking directly at him at the time and was consequently caught off guard by Sherlock approaching him.

"Good evening, John" Sherlock said with an unusual tone of voice. It sounded strained, quite unlike his own.

The close proximity in which Sherlock stood, indicated to John that perhaps Sherlock thought he was the other John.

Looking up briefly, John's heart hammered at the sight of his flatmate licking his lips eagerly. But, suddenly, he halted.

"Your eyes" the brunette stated.

Thinking quickly and never believing he would fool Sherlock for a second, John applied a sickeningly camp tone to his voice and flashed his eyelashes for a brief moment.

"Coloured contacts. You like?" he asked, keeping his sentences short. He had no idea why he kept the pretence up, whether it was for his benefit or Sherlock's he had no idea.

To his amazement, Sherlock smiled weakly. "Yes" He said warmly.

John's heart almost gave out as Sherlock reached for his hand.

He was right, he knew now that he must be right, Sherlock paid a man who looked like John to do _things _because he must want John. He must.

"Can we go, somewhere private?" Sherlock said huskily as he leaned towards John's ear.

If John's eyes fluttered shut briefly at the sensation of the familiar baritone so close to him, he was not conscious of it.

John caught sight of the bar maid over Sherlock's shoulder and she mouthed to him that there was a room in the back. He smiled and winked despite his shock and immediately pulled the hand holding Sherlock in that direction.

Once they were in the room, Sherlock immediately changed character.

"So, Danny, tell me, what was Sam doing between 4pm and 5pm this evening? Did you see him? Did he tell you anything? Anything at all?" Sherlock asked seemingly desperately as he ran his hands over the photo frames lining the walls of the small red room, seeking detection devices.

"So it is a case" John mumbled awkwardly as he sat down heavily on the couch.

Sherlock's body froze. Even John could see it.

"John?" Sherlock asked in confusion as he turned to face the Doctor in question.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. _Danny_ is off sick. I just filled in, I – I don't know why-" John stuttered.

"Danny is off sick?" Sherlock asked, ploughing over the older man's desperation speech with a further frown.

"Yes, Bar maid, she said he had flu" John explained weakly, looking down at his hands in his lap as he sat awkwardly.

"Come on, John, we need to find him, his life is in danger" Sherlock said, swooping from the room.

On the way out, the bar maid waved happily and winked cheekily. John managed a smile back toward her before disappearing after the detective.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Sherlock hailed a taxi and the pair sat in silence as they raced towards an unknown location. John wrung his hands the entire journey, he had no idea what he had done, what if people found out? What if Sherlock interrogated him as to why he played the part? Why had he gone back to that infernal club? He felt suddenly sick, had he jeopardised the case by being there the night before, had his double been killed because of his curiosity and nosiness?

"I'm sure he will be fine" Sherlock murmured from his position on the other end of the taxi's back bench.

"I'm so sorry, Sherlock" John said desperately, he felt awful and didn't bother to ask how Sherlock knew what he was thinking.

Throwing cash in the general direction of the driver, the two men exited the taxi. Sherlock broke into a run as he weaved between side streets to finally arrive at a small, badly beaten door.

John arrived in tow to see the man from the previous night open the door.

"You can't bring him here, Sherlock!" Danny whispered desperately, looking at John.

"He's with me" Sherlock stated forcefully. "Now why are you not at work?"

"I'm ill" Danny said dubiously.

"You hardly look it – Doctor, what are your observations?" Sherlock asked not looking in John's direction.

"You really don't look ill" John stated quietly as he took his place behind the detective.

"Is Sam in there?" Sherlock asked suddenly.

Without waiting for Danny to answer, Sherlock barged his way past Danny and up the rotten staircase of the dank flats.

John followed.

As John reached the top of the staircase he saw a rather large man dressed only in vest and jeans pounce at Sherlock, knocking him to the ground. The man – John assumed was Sam – started to punch Sherlock in his face without repent, pulling at his clothing and tearing it with ease.

John filled with instant rage and launched himself at the larger man, subsequently knocking him sideways and off of Sherlock. The inner soldier took over; straddling the large bald man and punching him until his knuckles bled. Sam didn't move when John stopped and a puddle of blood emanated onto the floorboard from his bald and unsightly head.

"John, I –" Sherlock stopped as he clambered to his feet beside the Doctor.

"You killed him" Danny said in awe as he looked at John.

John got to his feet, breathing heavily; he wiped his forehead with his coat sleeve, collecting droplets of sweat from his exertion as he continued to catch his breath.

"Well, I guess that's case closed. Thank you Danny, although I fear you will be taken down for harbouring a dangerous criminal." Sherlock said with ease as he stepped closer to Danny.

"He was harbouring me, if there was any harbouring going on at all" Danny said meekly.

"Lestrade" Sherlock said into his phone. "Yes, remember the address? Yes, he's been…killed. He was dead before we got here. Danny didn't see who did it." Sherlock said as he walked out of the room and down the stairs.

John moved to the wall and leant against it weakly. Why had he done that? He was angry, no furious, that someone could hurt Sherlock. He felt the reminder in his back that his gun remained untouched; he had punched a man to death. He hadn't done that since the war.

"You love him don't you?" Danny asked weakly as he looked at John curiously. "You just killed the most dangerous man in London for him, thank you."

Before John could answer, Sherlock sweeped back into the room, bending down, he examined the man before standing once more and glancing at John.

"We had better get you away from here. Danny, I needn't tell you that this is strictly confidential what happened here?" Sherlock ordered.

Danny nodded.

The taxi ride to Baker Street was a relief in the loose sense of the word. The air was tense between the two flatmates.

At the top of the staircase, they parted without words. John heading for the kitchen and Sherlock for his room.

John awoke with a panic stricken jolt at 2am, sitting up in bed and realising where he was. He had only been asleep for half an hour and his head was pounding. He allowed a tear to streak his face as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. He felt dizzy and sick and his hands hurt. Looking down, he realised they were still covered in blood, his own blood.

John descended the staircase and entered the bathroom. He opened the cabinet, retrieving his small medical kit before sitting on the closed toilet lid to wash his hands in the adjacent sink.

Sherlock watched John enter the bathroom from his current position in the dark living room, he was only just able to see his flatmate's pyjama clad legs as the older man sat on the toilet lid to wash and tend to his injured hands. It was only when he heard the distinct sniff – an involuntary reaction to tears – that he stood to approach.

John sniffed again as another tear landed on his hand as he tried to apply the antiseptic cream. It stung, but that was only a small part of how much of him was currently in pain. He was confused, confused and depressed with regard to his recent findings in the feelings field. He had allowed his constant control to evaporate in the heat of the moment all because he had realised his feelings for the younger man he lived and worked with.

In amongst the waves of inner turmoil, he noticed that there was a shadow beside him in the small bathroom, he looked up through wet, red eyes to see the man of his new desires looking down at him with an unreadable expression on his face.

After a moment of silence and another sniff from the Doctor, Sherlock squatted down in front of him and took the antiseptic cream from his hand, continuing to apply it and gently rub it over the open wounds lining the shorter man's knuckles.

John vaguely noted the role reversal that had taken place within the week, but that didn't matter now as he watched his hands be taken care of.

Sherlock's long, slender and dextrous fingers made short work of bandaging John's knuckles on his right hand before he moved to his left hand.

John sniffed once more as Sherlock pinned the loose end of the last bandage and looked up at John with a small smile.

"Night mares have started again" Sherlock stated.

John nodded, swallowing hard.

"How can I be of assistance?" Sherlock asked, his face remained straight as he awaited instructions.

John looked down at the younger man in admiration, another tear made a break for his cheek from his tired eyes and Sherlock lifted a hand to wipe it away with his thumb.

John tilted his head and closed his eyes at the contact, another two tears falling simultaneously from closed lids.

Sherlock smiled knowingly before allowing the rest of his hand to cup John's face as he wiped the other two tears away.

"Why were you in the night club, John?" Sherlock asked, breaking the moment as John opened his eyes suddenly, aware of his actions.

"I – I – I had to know what was going o-on" John said with small hyperventilating breaths in between.

"I had to make it believable that I was going there for a reason – it would have been odd if had suddenly taken a liking to gay night bars. I paid Danny to dress the way he did and I told him to tell anyone who asked; that I was a regular." Sherlock muttered, his eyes searching John's face for a reaction.

John looked at Sherlock almost pleadingly as he licked his top lip and nuzzled Sherlock's hand gently. "You, aren't, a regular then?" he asked.

"Don't be dull, John. I would not frequent that place" Sherlock said with a smirk.

"But, that means that you, still aren't interested in…pursuing_ that_ line of enquiry" John said tiredly.

"I have absolutely no idea what you mean" Sherlock said with a furrowed brow. "But I must encourage you to _think_ John. Where would the idea-" Sherlock smoothed his hand around from John's cheek to the back of his neck. "-of John Watson the rent boy have come from if it wasn't true?"

It was John's turn to look confused now as he furrowed his brow in reply.

"I am no good at this. So, here, this is all you are getting." Sherlock said with a sigh as he dropped his hand away from John's neck and stood up in front of him.

"You. Me. Bed. Now" The younger man said.

John coughed lightly in shock before staring up at the man in front of him. He had the distinct impression that Sherlock would never know what that broken sentence had just done to him.


End file.
